Uncharted Seas (8 page)

When daylight brought the boat’s company back to consciousness they roused up listlessly from a comfortless, unrefreshing sleep taken in snatches on the hard bottom boards with bundles for pillows and a ship’s blanket or odd piece of tarpaulin for bedding.

It was calmer than the day before. The breeze had dropped to light airs that barely rippled the surface of the water; the long rolling swell had disappeared.

The sail was set again, but except for an occasional puff of wind which billowed it out to carry them a few fathoms it flapped noisily against the mast or hung slack and useless.

The morning ration was issued and eaten in despondent silence. The sun broke through the clouds and gradually the sky cleared
until it was once more a hard, bright blue. Luvia knew that during the night the current must have carried them many miles still further south, but the sun’s rays seemed no less powerful. By ten o’clock they were taking advantage of every scrap of cover, and by midday they were panting where they sat, like so many dogs after a long, exciting chase.

The only cheerful person in the company was Jean De Brissac. Having been unconscious or asleep practically the entire time since they had left the sinking
Gafelborg
, he had escaped thirty-six hours of acute anxiety which had already undermined the resistance of the others.

When he awoke after his long sleep he felt very weak and his head pained him, but the gentle lapping of the waters against the boat’s timbers and a patch of bright blue sky that he could see through a gap in the tarpaulin tent where he lay informed him that the storm was over. Having escaped the tempest there seemed no reason to him why, given good weather, the boat should not carry them safely to land. He had no idea what had laid him out, but previous experience of wounds had taught him that complete inactivity, mental and physical, was the quickest road to recovery. As he was a casualty he could not assist his compaions in handling the boat, but he could help them by worrying neither himself nor them and by being as little bother as possible.

Unity had constituted herself his nurse; a position which Synolda, decorative but incompetent, was incapable of filling. As De Brissac eased his position a little Unity saw that his quick brown eyes were open, and bent over him.

‘What happened?’ he murmured, economising words and effort.

‘You were hit on the head by an oar the night before last. Your scalp’s badly cut, but as you bled like a pig you may have escaped concussion. Now you’re awake I’d better do your head again.’

With deft fingers she undid the bandage and began to bathe the wound. Fresh water could not be spared for the purpose, but Unity thought sea water even better on account of the healing properties of its salt. The treatment caused De Brissac to wince and make a feeble protest, but she smiled reassuringly.

‘Stinging you up a bit, eh? I’m afraid it’s bound to as long as the wound remains open. Still, it’s a clean, healthy sort of gash and it’s looking much better than it did yesterday. If you’re a good patient we’ll have you up and about again within a week.’
She was determined to conceal the fact from him as long as possible that their water supply would be exhausted in another twenty-four hours. The horrors which might ensue did not bear contemplation, and were certainly not the thoughts to put into the head of a sick man.

In consequence, after she had washed his face and made him as comfortable as she could he thanked her with a little compliment on her gentleness and drifted into a semi-doze happily ignorant of their true situation.

The appearance of the party was going rapidly from bad to worse. None of the men had shaved now for two days and the heat had increased the growth of dirty-looking stubble on their cheeks and chins. Several also had angry red patches on their noses, foreheads, and necks, where the sun had caught them during their turns at look-out the day before.

Having lost most of her hairpins Synolda had abandoned her attempts to keep her long hair up and, in an endeavour to make the best of a bad job, appeared that morning with it flowing down over her shoulders. She looked very attractive like that and well she knew it.

To her surprise and indignation Luvia ordered her curtly to tie it up in a bun or conceal it under a handkerchief head-dress. He knew that all the men, and particularly the Negroes, would become abnormal once thirst and despair began to affect them seriously. The last thing he meant to have was anything like a display of Synolda’s golden tresses which might excite their lust when they became unbalanced.

Grudgingly, with a sullen glance from her blue eyes, she returned to the tent and when she reappeared some moments later he saw that she had met his order by a compromise, having braided her hair into two long plaits. As her face was still heavily made up the result was not a happy one; she looked like a middleaged actress playing the part of a schoolgirl in some third-rate revue.

For a company of fourteen, not counting the women or De Brissac, the duties were light. Luvia, Jansen and Basil took turns at the tiller; from the remainder shifts of three—one to do the look-out and two to handle the sail each time the boat went about—were all that was necessary.

With monotonous regularity they tacked from one side to the other, making the best of the light breeze and creeping gradually a few miles further westward. Luvia knew that even if they had
had provisions for a month they could never have reached the coast of South America at this pace, but it was better for everybody’s morale that they should appear to be making some attempt to get somewhere rather than confess complete impotence and just let the boat drift.

When he took an observation of the sun at midday he found that the current had carried them still further southward; the wind was too light for him to counteract the movement.

As he remarked on it Unity said: ‘There is land at the Antarctic—isn’t there?’

He nodded. ‘There certainly is. Several pretty useful islands still lie south of us. South Georgia and the South Orkney group; then there’s Graham Land, a long, coastal region of the Antarctic continent itself.’

‘I suppose there’s nothing but snow and ice there, though?’

‘You’re wrong to suppose that at this season. Graham Land’s only about sixty-five south, same as my own homeland, Finland, in the northern hemisphere. It’s grand there in summer; the lakes and woods are just wonderful. Such carpets of wild flowers, too, as you never see in other places except, perhaps, Siberia. We get a twenty-four-hour day to enjoy them in, what’s more. You see, Nature makes up to us a bit for the long, dark night she hands us out in winter and, although I don’t know a thing about Graham Land, I figure it must be much the same.’

‘Really!’ Unity brightened instantly. ‘Are there settlers there then—little towns and villages?’

‘A few maybe; but the Antarctic’s so cut off from the rest of the world it’s only been explored in quite recent times. I don’t think there’s any native population, and Europeans have hardly woken up yet to its possibilities. Still, there’d certainly be settlements of sorts round the whaling stations.’

‘Then we’d be all right if we got there; even if we had to rough it for a bit before we could find a ship to take us home?’

‘That’s so, we’d be as well off there as we would be in Patagonia or the Falklands—if only we could make it.’

‘How far south of us is Graham Land, and these islands?’

‘Oh, quite a way,’ Luvia answered casually. He had not the heart to tell her that the Antarctic coast was even further off than that of South America.

During the hottest hours those who were not on duty endeavoured to doze again but, unlike the previous day, when they had needed sleep after their ordeal, they found it difficult to escape
their misery in slumber. Even so there was less talk among the men and, although little was said, it was obvious from their strained faces that every one of them was the prey of the same desperate anxiety.

Basil alone roamed the boat from stem to stern, exchanging small talk with all and sundry. His craving for what he termed a civilised drink made him restless and irritable. He stubbornly refused to allow himself to cadge a further peg from Synolda or Hansie, but he could see no earthly reason why Luvia should not allow him a tot of the boat’s rum. In his view it was absurd to hold the stuff for medical purposes when the only invalid among them was the Frenchman, who was not allowed it anyway because Unity forbade him alcohol, fearing he might have delayed concussion. The rest of them were as fit as could be expected; the nights were warm so there was no question of reserving it to revive sufferers chilled by exposure, and as they had only sufficient water to last them another twenty-four hours it was quite unreasonable to assume that a number of cases would call for special treatment in that time. Once the water had given out the rum would be of little use anyway as it would not quench thirst taken neat, but if used now, Basil argued to himself, it would strengthen and fortify them.

Luvia’s reason for refusing it was the perfectly sound one that if he let Basil have a tot he could not refuse to let the others do the same, and he feared the effect that strong spirits might have on Harlem and his companions when taken on almost empty stomachs.

Basil was too preoccupied with his longing to think of that. He could not get the rum jar out of his mind and, as the afternoon wore on, he gradually formed a resolution to circumvent Luvia’s ban, however irate the Finn might prove afterwards.

His plan was a simple one. The rum was in the after locker, now forming the rear portion of the girl’s quarters. He would wait until Luvia went to the small shelter at the forward end of the boat, as they all did from time to time, push the girls out of the way and snatch the coveted jar before anyone could stop him.

Once he had made up his mind to this flagrant breach of discipline he began to watch Luvia cautiously, but over an hour and a half crawled by, every moment of which held added torture now that he could almost feel by anticipation the glow of the reviving spirit in his chest.

At last the Finn handed over the tiller to Jansen and began to
clamber over the thwarts towards the bow. The half-caste sailor, Gietto Nudäa, and Harlem Joe were on duty amidships at the sail, but intent on his raid Basil never gave them a thought. He waited until Luvia was out of sight forward of the mast then thrust his head into the girl’s shelter.

‘How’s old De Brissac getting on?’ he asked briskly.

‘Hush!’ Unity exclaimed. ‘You’ll wake him. He’s—’

‘Sorry!’ His apology, cutting her short, could be taken to refer either to her protest or the fact that in leaning over the recumbent Frenchman his shoulder struck her in the chest. Next moment he had the locker open and his hand on the rum jar.

‘What are you up to?’ Unity’s voice held a sharp, suspicious note, but he ignored the question, murmured a bland, ‘Excuse me,’ and with one heave lifted the heavy jar over De Brissac’s body.

Synolda laughed; a low delicious chuckle was not the least of her attractions, but as Basil pulled his prize past the flap of the shelter Colonel Carden gave a gasp of surprise and anger.

‘Hi! Stop that! Put that jar back at once, sir,’ he ordered tersely.

Giving him a swift, malicious grin, Basil wrenched out the bung and lifted the jar with both hands, bringing its mouth up to his lips.

‘Mr. Luvia!’ bawled the Colonel, scrambling to his feet. ‘Here! quick! Sutherland’s getting at the rum!’ Still shouting for Luvia he grabbed Basil by the elbow and tried to pull the jar away.

Basil had taken one great gulp. His eyes were starting from their sockets as the neat spirit ran down his throat but, with a dexterous twist, he shook off the Colonel’s grip and tilted the jar again. Some of the rum spilled down his chest, but he sucked in another mouthful.

It was barely a minute since Basil had thrust his head into the tent but the Colonel’s bellowing had already roused the whole boat’s company. All those abaft the sail took in the situation instantly; others came tumbling aft to find out the cause of the disturbance.

Next moment the ill-considered action to which Basil’s craving had driven him precipitated open mutiny.

Harlem Joe had seen the passengers quarrelling among themselves. For him it was a God-sent opportunity. He would kill if need be, but he had already determined to seize the stores and particularly the precious keg of water for his cronies and himself next time Luvia snatched a nap.

Gietto Nudäa had also grasped the possibilities of the situation; the eyes of the two men met in a glance of swift understanding.

‘Dat cask, pal—now,’ Harlem roared, and with eyes aflame for battle the two men came crashing over the intervening thwarts towards the stern-sheets.

Basil lowered the jar with quick apprehension. He had had all the rum he ever meant to take and was prepared for trouble with Luvia, but the trouble rushing towards him now was very different.

Luvia’s voice reached them in a shout from beyond the sail. ‘Hang on, Colonel—I’m coming.’

Halting in his tracks, Harlem turned and yelled: ‘Lem—Isiah—Corncob—grab de Bass an’ give him de works.’ In a flash he swung back and hit out at Basil.

The Negro’s great fist would have sent Basil spinning into the stern tent if it had landed square, but he ducked in time and it only grazed his ear. The rum jar slid from his grasp and fell with a thud on the bottom boards; its precious contents gushed out over the Colonel’s feet.

A commotion had started in the bow of the boat. Harlem’s cronies had obeyed his instructions and set on Luvia before he could make his way aft.

Jansen, already on his feet to help the Colonel prevent Basil’s raid on the rum, now abandoned the tiller and flung himself at Gietto. The two went down together with a terrific crash, the tough old carpenter on top.

Vicente Vedras, until Harlem’s attack a neutral spectator of
the scene, now dived at the Negro from behind, catching at his legs in an attempt to pitch him overboard, but the great black had his feet planted well apart and stood steady as a rock. The only result of Vicente’s assult was to divert Harlem’s attention momentarily from Basil.